Writings on Life, War, and Exploration

The Wound

The Wound

Where are the cuts,

When there is no flesh to see,

Beneath the layers of dirt,

And grime,

And time,

There’s the wound,

Open and undertakened,

Blistered,

And confused,

Of feelings born anew

Amongst the soil of fear and anxiety.

Thoughts of being damaged,

Ravages the inner sanctum.

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